Cold
by NoLongerHidden
Summary: The brisk air held an unusual hint of harshness in it as it enveloped her malnourished frame, wracking shivers throughout her body. She hadn't had a decent meal in weeks, though that was her own choice and no one else's – why should she live if so many others had died by her hand? *Slight Clintasha, One-Shot*


**Cold**

by: NoLongerHidden

* * *

"_I could have drowned today. If they hadn't been screaming my name so loudly and if I hadn't woken up, I would have drowned._" –Erica Sehyun Song

* * *

The brisk air held an unusual hint of harshness in it as it enveloped her malnourished frame, wracking shivers throughout her body. She hadn't had a decent meal in weeks, though that was her own choice and no one else's – why should she live if so many others had died by her hand?

When she had first decided to die, the thought had briefly crossed her mind to take a handful of pills and end it quickly, no pain. But all her victims had died a painful death, so why should she go quietly into the night? Starving herself seemed like a decent way to go, so she had settled on a little corner in a partly crumbled abandoned building near the shoreline – four? five? – days ago and settled to die.

The first night there was nothing more than a few cries of drunken men. The second was no different. But the third, as she remembered vividly, brought no-so-sober individuals looking for a quick screw – willing or not. She had fought tooth and nail but not having a decent meal – or any – in weeks turned out to be not so good for her strength.

The ghost of their hands still haunted her body, slinking their way among her inner thigh. She had been more wary after that, but what was the use? Her body hadn't been hers for many years now. The Red Room had taken care of that per the use of long, dark nights locked away in a damp room when she had misbehaved, guarded by men who had no qualms of taking the innocence away from a six year old child.

Her thoughts came back to the present and she shivered against the wind, ignoring yet another catcall that swiftly became lost in the wind. As long as they didn't come close she would be fine, she told herself. As long as they didn't come near-

But wishful thinking was for the innocent as, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure plop down beside her.

She tensed up but instead of feeling pain and hurt, she felt something warm drape across her shoulders. When there was nothing more she took a chance and turned her head.

Her eyes found a man of twenty eight or so, built with muscles and, she guessed, only a bit taller than her. Light eyes met hers and rudely cut brownish hair spilled around her ears. He didn't look like a threat, yet – "What do you want?"

His raised eyebrows showed that he clearly hadn't expected her to speak, but he remained silent, she immersed in his surprisingly warm jacket. She turned her gaze away from him, towards the gloomy horizon. Another gust of wind shook her, no less strong than the last time, but the jacket kept her slightly warmer.

Her vision suddenly became slightly blurred – lack of water, she assumed – and she tilts her head back, hiding the pain from the stranger who gave her his coat.

But instead of feeling pain or hurt anymore, she finds herself wrapped in the warmth of his arms. Her body immediately reacts as if to punch him, but another wave of dizziness overtakes her and a sharp intake of breath graces her lips.

His calloused but strangely warm hands ran themselves up and down her arms as if to protect her from the cold. She was nestled between his legs, her own drawn up to her chest. His chest was surprisingly warm as he held her close, trying to bring heat to her.

And it did. Slowly but surely she became less cold, his own warmth seemingly transferring to her. His breath was on the nape of her neck as he spoke for the first time. "Are you warmer?" he asked, voice a few shades gruffer than she had imagined.

A breath escaped her own lips as her mind became lulled into a sense of security that came off from this stranger. "Yeah," she whispered. "I'm – better, I suppose."

Around them she became aware of boats around the shoreline, people's laughter gracing the air. As if for the first time in weeks she felt slightly more alive and her lips parted, the puff of a laugh escaping her.

"What?" his voice echoed. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," she mummers back. "Nothing at all."

He clears his throat and she can tell that he is at odds for what to do next, but she chooses for him, gently breaking from his grip and twisting around. Her pale fingers trail among his jaw line and she leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss there. "Thank you," she whispers.

She can feel his eyes on her as she stands up and brushes off the dirt that had gathered on her knees. The shorts and tank top she is wearing it far too cold for this weather – although the jacket helps – and she feels his eyes rake her, is if seeing for the first time completely what she is wearing. She turns to walk out of the building when she feels her wrist captured by his fingers. His grip is barely there as he says, "You shouldn't be out here alone; come back with me. I've got a hotel room."

She shakes her head, amused. If he only knew what she'd been through alone in her short nineteen years… "I'm fine," she says.

"No." His voice is gaining a tone that she does not like, and her eyes narrow. "Please; I can't let you go alone. Something might happen and I–" his breath catches in his throat as he pauses – "I would feel responsible."

She considers his offer. A stranger, offering to help her; but she won't. "Sorry," she says, but she is not. Her mind is floating with a plan and she is actually feeling the hunger in her stomach for the first time in days.

"At least let me buy you a decent meal," he says smoothly, all traces of panic disappearing. That is the first thing that sets her on edge but she brushes it away, considering the advantage of having someone by food for her instead of her going through all the trouble to steal it.

"Okay."

* * *

The place he leads her too is a small diner on the corner of only a slightly larger neighborhood, but the moment the smell of hamburgers and fries reaches her nose all warnings go away. She can feel curious – and predatory – eyes of other people in the diner, but they all disappear when she feels an arm place itself on her hip pull her close to his side.

His breath is warm as he leans to her ear – to the common observer, it would look like he was whispering words of affection. "Play along," he mummers. "We don't want to draw too much attention."

So she plays along, laughing sweetly at his jokes and shooting him loving looks. It isn't hard for her considering she'd played many different roles all her life.

The cashier greets her companion with the air of familiarity and it dawns on her why he wanted her to act like they were lovers – he must be well known in the area. He orders a dish she has unheard of before looking at her questionably. She orders a simple hamburger and fries before her partner steers them towards a leather red booth in the back.

He slides in first and she follows, snuggling up to his side, playing the part. He brushes a gentle kiss to the crown of her hair and under the watchful eyes of the diner's occupants act like – well, a couple in love.

She's surprisingly having fun for the first time since leaving the Red Room, thoughts of dying far from her mind when a man waving a gun enters the shop.

"Everybody down!" are the words from his mouth and she fakes the part of a scared woman as her companion – she really needs to learn his name – pulls her closer. He pulls them to the corner of the booth and she buries her head in his chest.

Then the sound of a gun goes off and she feels a harsh pain pierce her lower abdomen. A gasp escapes her and she crumples against him.

Combined with not having eaten and a bullet in her side, she quickly begins to feel faint, eyelids flickering. She hears yelling of her companion followed by the echoing sound of more bullets – and then her vision goes black.

* * *

When she wakes up with a pounding headache and an ache in her side, she isn't sure where she is.

Her eyes remained closed for a few more moments, trying to use her senses to figure out where she was. The air was smelled sterile and clean, so…a hospital?

But when her eyes opened to a pure white room with beeping machines and the large emblem an organization she knows all too well decorating the wall, she knew she's in for a hell of trouble.

She tried to sit up, but felt her hand jerked back – one was handcuffed to the bed. Normally she would be able to escape that no problem, but the bullets and the headache made it hard to focus. It was then she saw her companion standing at the edge of the bed, hands gripping the metal bars, staring at her intently. And instead of worn jeans and a tee shirt, he was dressed in a black shirt and black pants with the same symbol as the wall on them.

"You," she hissed, lunging towards him though going nowhere. "You – you tricked me!"

He shook his head. "I was sent to kill you. The gunman however, wasn't part of the plan."

"Then why," she spat, "did you not kill me that moment you saw me?"

His look was one of pity. "You were at the edge of death anyway." He took a breath. "My name is Clint Barton…and with the permission of the director, I'd like to offer you a job."

* * *

_The End._


End file.
